"And God will surely consider you again and bring you
up from this land unto the land which He swore to Avraham, to Yitzchak, and to
Yaakov” (Bereishis 20:24). Yoseph says this to his brothers from his death bed,
and, as the not quite penultimate pasuk of Bereishis, it seems like a natural
foreshadowing of what is to come - since we are all familiar with Sefer Shemos
and the need for Divine rescue. But on its own within the narrative of
Bereishis, it is actually a fairly odd statement. For the brothers and their
families to need reassurance that God will remember them implies that they
believed they had been forgotten - or at least deemed unimportant – in the Divine
plan. How could this be when it had been so clearly pointed out that, even with
Hashem’s reiterated promise of the Land of Canaan to their forefathers, everything
had happened because God wanted Bnei Yisrael to sojourn in Egypt? Why are they
afraid when, as far as the text has demonstrated, they are flourishing and
living quite comfortably?
The fact is that life can be good and not good at the same
time. One can live in a world of comfort and still be uncomfortable. They may
have had physical prosperity, but, perhaps, by the time Yoseph passed away they
were aware of the beginning of the spiritual challenges that would face them.
The sons of Yaakov not only saw how Yaakov devoted his life
to God, but they lived that devotion with him. Additionally, they had had the
opportunity to know their grandfather Yitzchak, so they were clear on the chain
of this spiritual inheritance. Their children and some of their children's
children also knew Yaakov, only not as intimately since his great spiritual
strength was diminished while he mourned Yoseph for years. But what of their
younger grandchildren and the children after that? What about the “little ones”
left behind in Goshen when the sons of Yaakov went up to Canaan to bury their
great father (50:8)? Not only were these little ones not able to meet their
holy patriarch, but they never saw the Promised Land with their own eyes.
Bnei Yisrael came to Egypt to avoid the famine and to be
reunited with Yoseph, but they also came to fulfill the prophecy of the Bris
Bein HaBiturim that Avraham's children would reside and suffer in a land
not their own (Bereishis 15). The suffering, however, began far earlier than
most people realize. It began with the little ones left behind. Interestingly, according
to the Malbim, the little ones were not left behind, but rather they were
forced to stay as guarantees that Yoseph and his extended family would return.
These children were, ever so slightly, less connected to the path of their
forefathers.
This was in no way the fault of the brothers. They made all the
right efforts. They settled themselves apart from the Egyptians in the land of
Goshen. They maintained their flocks because they knew it was an unwelcome occupation to
their neighbors. And, according to the midrash, Yehuda built a yeshiva in which
they could study the ways of their forefathers. The brothers created community
infrastructure to strengthen the generations to come. That they did so was,
perhaps, the key to the strength of Bnei Yisrael that the sages teach us that Bnei
Yisrael held on to their unique heritage even as the oppression grew strong during
their enslavement and they managed to not cross over the 50th level of tumah.
In the last days of Yoseph, however, the generation that had
seen and lived true spiritual greatness, saw the beginning of the descent, just
ever so slightly, and they were concerned. Not anxious, not upset, not
frighten, just, perhaps, a little concerned. This is a concern that speaks to
us today.
When generations lived in strong, cohesive units, such as they
did in the times of our forefathers, the differences between the generations
were far less noticeable. Today we live in a time when we even name our
generations, because not only the Jewish people, but the whole world, can see differences
distinct enough between the Baby Boomers and the Millennials.
Our people have spent thousands of years yearning for our
children, for ourselves, to once again be able to live up to the caliber of our
great ancestors, and so Yoseph’s deathbed promise to his brothers is a promise
even unto this day – as Biblical language might say. For we here in the Western
countries have been welcomed, have been accepted, have risen to positions of
esteem, and have come to live in great comfort. And we have an infrastructure of
strong communities and robust yeshivot. But we fight a constant spiritual battle
against assimilation. However, if there is one thing that we can and should
learn from the overarching story of Yoseph, it is that Hashem always has a plan,
and Hashem will always remember His promise.
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